


HOTEL SERIES 0 - Origin Series - Sundance - TIFF - Oscars

by BLUEFICTION2



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, HOTEL SERIES, M/M, Oral Sex, Origin Story, POV Armie Hammer, POV Timothée Chalamet, Sex Toys, golden showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BLUEFICTION2/pseuds/BLUEFICTION2
Summary: In this origin fic 0 (1) we go back to Sundance where Armie, recovering from his shoulder injury, watches the film for the first time ever with Timmy. This is followed by TIFF-17-18-19 and then Awards Season - The Oscars.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	1. HOTEL 0 (1) Sundance

_____

■ Disclaimer: this is a fictional depiction of the two actors (and other peripheral characters) mentioned within the following storyline.  
_____  
___

● Hotel 0.1 - origin fic - NSFW  
● (1) Sundance - January 2017  
___  
_____

● Timmy:  
_______

As I'm the only one of us on my floor, I'm more than slightly freaked out thinking about navigating our first featival Red Carpet and how the film will be perceived at the screening, but then I also know how good it is. It has to be.

Hell, I've done the festival circuit before, I know how fickle some audiences are. How officiously judgemental too.

But I think I've got it under control, and I'm soon grabbing my phone, dialing a familiar number.

"Tim." He answers.

"How come you're way over on another floor?" I ask.

"Luca isn't near me either. Although your dear Papa is."

"Michael? Fuck. I'm stuck here all alone until they call."

"It's probably just to make sure we're dressed appropriately and none of us are wearing the same outfit." Armie says, but over the phone I'm not quite sure if he's joking or not.

"I think it's more so we're all there at the same time."

"You're taking this way too seriously. Are you nervous?" He sighs.

"No."

"Liar."

"Can I come up?" I try not to whine because that sounds so needy.

"I can come down to you." He offers.

"Okay."  
___

●  
___

"How are you feeling?"

"S'alright. I don't hurt so much." Armie sprawls his long body over the wing chair in the corner.

"But you did."

"You kissed it better."

"I did a lot more than that."

"Do you want me to reveal, in interview, how you cured me?"

"No. They'll think you're a fucking perv for having sex with a teenager."

"You're not a teenager. And you had sex with me." He smiles, even though his eyes are closed.

I approach the chair, standing beside, carefully running my fingers under the strap of his sling.

Armie looks up through unfocused eyes as I lean over to kiss him lightly on the lips, where he sighs heavily before deepening the kiss.

"Mmmm." He groans, and I know it's arousal talking.

"Did you take anything?" I ask.

But he doesn't answer, one long arm wrapping around to pull me onto his lap.

I sit carefully, legs straddling; one hand on his good shoulder while the other reaches up to glide through his hair.

"Fuckkkkkk." His lips nuzzle into my neck.

I know I'm getting to him.

"Am I too - ?"

"No. You're okay." I know he wants to stay like this for awhile.

The meds wipe him out.

And fuck knows what else he's taken.  
___

"You're hard."

"Happens when I've got a randy twenty-one year old grinding onto my dick."

"Twenty-two. I had a birthday."

"Christ. When?"

"Last month. The 27th."

Armie groans loudly. "Stop. Grinding."

"I'm not grinding." I huff, slightly indignant, although he's probably right.

"Wiggling then. Call it what you will, the result is the same."

"I'm hard too."

"I noticed. Care to do anything about it?"

"We don't have time." I wait a beat, before I offer, "but I could blow you."  
___

●  
___

"Boys!" Luca's buoyant, hugging each of us.

Armie, playing with the strap over his shoulder, keeps his right side slightly away from our exuberant director.  
___

●  
___

I'd teased him before we left about his choice of wardrobe. "Looks like you're wearing prison stripes," I say, pressing lightly on the front of his sweater, tracing the bold white stripe, then the thinner black, my palms carefully splayed against his stomach before he finishes adjusting the sling.

"It's warm, easy to put on and it doesn't hurt."

"I like it." I do. "I'm thinking of wearing stripes more."

He laughs at my attempt to make up to him.

"A blow-job and now you're sucking up to me?"

"You like my sucking."

"But you didn't -"

"I jerked off in the shower." I say, placating him before he goes into reciprocal territory.

"Sorry. I -."

"Nothing wrong with that. It'll help me last longer. Later."

"Well don't say anything around Luca."

"About what?"

"Sucking, fucking, anything like that."

"Okay."

"I mean it, just don't. He's got a thing for you."

"Fuck off."

"Just watch. He'll start going on about how much he's in love with his actors."

"He says it all the time."

"But he means you."

Oh.  
___

●  
___

It seems so surreal standing between Luca and Armie with all the camera's flashing, and I'm finding myself protective of him as I try to keep our affectionate director from bumping against Armie's side.

But Armie's in PR mode. All professional, without a sign of what we were up to earlier.

Just as well. Nobody needs to know.  
___

●  
___

I sit beside him in the darkened theater, mindful that Armie does not enjoy watching himself on the big screen. I personally don't mind it so much. It's a great tool and time spent with Luca going over what we'd filmed was an education in itself.

But Armie has a thing where, after the shoot is over, he feels his job is done.

I have trouble letting things go. Letting him go. Things in general - Armie in particular.  
___

I push my leg against his. Just a bit. Not much. Not so you'd notice.

But I'm immediately relieved when he returns the pressure.

Not much. But enough for me to notice. Enough that I want to climb all over him right there in the darkened theater.  
___

Watching myself, even if it's in character, falling in love with Armie (I don't just see Oliver up there - Armie's definitely present in every frame, every fucking second he's up on the screen), bringing back wonderful memories of last summer, of doing the exact same thing ourselves.

The. Exact. Same. Fucking. Thing.  
___

I'm already tearing up, watching the emotions that cross my face in the last scene - remembering every second staring into the fireplace, when I realize Armie has gotten very still.

He wasn't there for the shoot. He didn't see, didn't know.

Now he does.

And I don't know if I can breathe.

I want to hold him so fucking much, and at this very moment, want him to hold me back.

But when I look over, he's staring straight ahead; as if he's in a trance and I'm afraid to move. We're in this public venue and he's seeing all the pain my character went through, knowing it wasn't just Elio feeling this.

He'd watched bits and pieces before, but not everything.

Not with me sitting next to him.

Now we're expected to get up, approach the stage, and I don't really want to leave my seat. I want to sit right here. Beside him. Hoping against fucking hope that any residual pain goes away.  
___

●  
___

Good thing it's cold when we finally get outside. It gives me the opportunity to pull on my coat, wrap my arms around, hugging myself when I really want to be hugging Armie.

But he's off schmoozing and it's just too fucking obvious if I'm plastered to his side.

Luca pulls me over, introducing me to friends, and I'm sure now, that Armie was just bullshiting with what he'd inferred before.

We head out for a late meal, and afterward, I'm blatantly stuffed into a cab to "make curfew", as Armie puts it -- well fuck Armie's sense of humor.

And I feel I'm about to kill the son-of-a-bitch.

But there isn't a lot I can do when Armie and Luca are both giggling like fucking school girls, placing me, not so gently I might add, inside before slamming the car door.

But then reaching into my pocket for my wallet, I find a folded piece of paper, that when opened up in the privacy of my room, has Armie's block printing on it.

GROW UP I'LL SEE YOU AT MIDNIGHT.  
___

Oh. My. God.  
___

Gotta say, my eyes misted up reading that.

Only thing is that it's already long after midnight.

My phone dings, indicating a text that I open before checking the sender.

\- Darling, I hope everything went well -

Darling isn't Armie. Oh!

Getting a text, expecting to see your lover and it's your mother, well worse things have happened I guess.

And it's not like her message came while I was in flagrante delecto.  
___

Around a half hour later I hear a key card ping, the door opening to reveal my very handsome lover. Who knows how he got the card, and whomever gave it to him is undoubtedly busy letting the world know about it, but I really don't give a fuck right now.

My booty call has arrived.

And that's just what I call him as he enters my room. "Well if it isn't the man of the hour and his booté."

"How about I shove my size 15 booté up your skinny arse?"

"Arse?"

"When it's that skinny, it's an arse."

"That's no way to sweet talk your way up my skinny arse." I reason.

"Now, now dear," He called me dear, "we'll do that later."

Armie smirks, taking in all my shit scattered about the room, but he's just just faking any kind of interest in my decor. Because when I move in to kiss him, I get a whole lot more than I bargained for as Armie tackles me, shoving me back on the bed that is thankfully large enough for the two of us.

He's strong for someone only using one arm! And then he's quickly removing the sling, the sweater.

"Let me help." I try to grab something.

"Off, off, off." He laughs as I try to gently get everything over his head.

He stops for a moment to look down at me.

"So what was so important that you and Luca dumped me into a cab?"

"Because, grasshopper, it was after midnight. And you had to find the note." The man remembers EVERYHING.

And he's never called me grasshopper before, it's kind of cute. I guess.  
___

"GROW UP I'LL SEE YOU AT MIDNIGHT?" I hold up the note.

"Yeah, that."

But I have to know if he's upset; if he was in anyway bothered by the fireplace scene.

"Were you freaked out about the film?" I ask him.

Armie gives me a look that patently says, "Don't be so full of shit."

But I know better.

"I read the script and the book. I knew how it ended." He states.

"That's not what I'm asking."

Armie raises an eyebrow.

"Watching me meltdown on the big screen, were you upset?"

"I was more concerned for you sitting beside me. The audience got so quiet and I could hear you breathing."

"I was okay." I tell him. "I am okay."

He shakes his head.

So I decide to prove it.

"Lie down." I tell him.

"I am lying down."

"Don't move then."

I quickly strip; in my haste, throwing my clothes on the floor. Then I'm very carefully, climbing up on the bed. Climbing up on Armie.

I lean forward, not touching the bandage. Marvelling at his smooth chest that is still bruised from his injury and the surgery he'd had just over a week ago.

"Oh fuck Armie." I'm trying not to cry.

"I'm all right."

No. He's. Not.

But we both want this. It's our first real time in a hotel setting.

Not on set. Or in my apartment. Or his.  
___

●  
___

It's almost like the first time when we were in my apartment going over the blocking of the midnight scene; the exact part where I'm on top of Armie trying to figure out how high up I should be to kiss him.

Anyway, I'm moving up and down, trying to get the angle right and Armie's hands are on my ass, kneeding, fucking kneeding and I'm about to tell him I don't need the kneeding to get in the mood, when one finger rubs between my cheeks.

There. Right. Fucking. There.

He leans back, red faced, where I'm not sure if it's from embarrassment or arousal at that point. And I guess I do this to assure him or just to fucking get some control back, but I slide down his body, right between his legs to the floor and put my mouth, yes my fucking mouth, completely over his cock.

Feeling him throb through the khaki shorts, feeling the heat of him, I put my tongue to the fabric, licking, drooling on him as I try to figure out how to get him naked.

The material darkens with my spit; the outline of him showing the size of his massive erection that makes me want to unbuckle his belt, remove his shorts to take him all the way in.

He puts his hands on my shoulders in what I'm finding is a rather feeble attempt to curtail my actions. I say feeble because neither of us want me to stop.

He's fisting my hair, grinding against me, and someone, fucking someone HAS to make the move to remove his shorts.

"Let me." He says.

FINALLY.

And now his belt flying is through the loops to clatter to the floor, and slapping his hands away, I unzip and pull them off myself.

His ass rises up off the bed.

Off off off.

We laugh.

My mouth hovers, taking him inside me as he's back to fisting my hair.

Fuck he's big. And long. He's fucking big and long everywhere.

And he's moaning as I take him in even further; his heavy ballsac just dying for attention.

Then --

One finger straying --

Finds him.

Yeah.  
___

●  
___

The bruising is almost gone and I'm forever glad Armie's on the mend. We get him comfortable with pillows supporting his arm, keeping that side stable.

And I open the lube, squirting a large gob onto my fingers, rubbing them against my own hole.

"Let me." He breaths with almost a reverence, like what we're doing is somehow sacred.

I move to face his feet, as he presses two fingers into me.

I bite my lip when they breach, then slide inside to the first knuckle, then further.

More. Did I say that or just think it?

But he pushes no further, instead scissoring THEM.

"Fuck."

More.

Oh my fucking God!

My hand presses against him. Two can play this game.

But he removes his fingers, slapping me on the ass. Arse.

"Get up."

Stop fucking ordering me around. But I don't say it, instead getting up to face him, straddling, then sliding down.

I reach back to get into position, then pulsing over his cock, my hole twitching in anticipation, he puts one hand on my shoulder, holding me steady as I take him inside my body.

Slowly.

The stretch.

The burn.

Oh fucking yeah, I'm sliding down, thinking I can handle this, I've got it.

But there's more.

More Armie, more feelings.

Just more.

Reaching behind me, I brace my hands on his thighs.

Pelvis rising.

Falling.

Moving.

Stretching.

More.

Cock.  
___

Home.  
___

Armie puts his hand over my cock, rubbing me, his fist enveloping me as I envelope him.

And I'm so fucking hard.

And so fucking ready.

My body tenses.

And we're almost.

Almost.

Fucking!

THERE.  
___

Armie hates that he can't participate the way he wants to and some might say this puts me in a dominant position, but I'll never cease to be captivated by him. Be in awe of how big and beautiful he is. How he can be bigger than life and so in tuned to what I need. Loving me, bringing me into his body, into his heart.  
___

I wake up, spooned around his body, Armie still asleep, looks more peaceful than he has in days.

This is good, I think.

This is what it should be.

___  
___

● FIN - HOTEL 0 (1) Sundance

___


	2. HOTEL 0 (2) TIFF-17-18-19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HOTEL 0 (2) is an origin story takes place over 4 time periods. TIFF 2019, TIFF 2018, TIFF 2017 and the filming of CMBYN in Crema in 2016. 
> 
> So buckle up, for safety, and please enjoy the ride.

___

HOTEL 0 (2) TIFF□17 - ■18 - ●19 + ¤ Crema 2016  
___

  
Timmy:  
___  
  


● 19  
___

《 You're there without me 》

Holy fuck. I practically fall out of bed at the pissed off - pouty message.

《 You weren't on the right continent 》 I type back, squinting at the screen. Actually I just tap on a Canadian flag with a finger pointing to it.

And get a completely different finger in response.

So I send him a half dozen eggplants, toss my phone in the night stand and turn over to ignore any further missives.

I mean, fuck! It's the middle of the night and I'm fucking fried. He knows time differences. He can be a mean bastard sometimes.  
_

The room's brighter when my phone wakes me, YOUR LOVE IS KING 🎶 echoing through the drawer.

(I've got to change that sometime.)

We watched Dakota's film in bed once and laughed our asses off. But Armie liked the song, or at least the connotation. Now he razzes her unmercifully about this.

Is he 12? But she can take it. If there's one woman who knows how to deal with Armie --

Okay I might be a bit jealous.

"At least it's a more acceptable hour." I grumble.

"Sorry if you can't handle a late night text." I can feel him smirking.

"It was 3:30 in the fucking morning!"

"Your point?"

I don't answer his question but ask one of my own, "What did you want? "

"I wanted to be there with you instead of halfway around the world. I want it to be two years ago instead of now when we're promoting completely different projects. I want to be in bed with you; my cock up your ass, or yours up mine; it doesn't matter as long as we're fucking."

"You're wanting an awful lot."

"You're the only person I want. There's no one else who even comes close to how much I want you."

"You say the sweetest things." I say in a low voice.

The line is quiet.

"You're getting maudlin, are you high?"

"No just missing you. And maybe a little --- buzzed." He sighs.

___

___

■ 18  
___

I sigh as Armie wraps his arms around me

Lifting me off my feet, bodies plastered together

Where I feel like I haven't seen him in forever

And joy seeps out of every pore.

___  
___

□ 17  
___

"I feel stupid." I whisper, watching him pour his water.

"It's what they wear up here."

"Denim everywhere? I don't think so."

I want to say more but Luca and the rest of the panel have arrived.

Armie looks over at me like a besotted puppy; I'm getting a lot of those glances lately and I can't lie, it feels fucking good.

And with the press tour in full swing, our rooms are finally on the same floor; we're practically neighbors. All we need now is a double suite, an adjoining doorway between a shared bath, with foot thick walls and beds that can be shoved together.

Actually that's close to what we have. This room has a gigantic bed making it almost a football field to play on. And bonus, it's a four poster. Oh the possibilities.

___  
___

■ 18  
___

We stand at the window and the view from my suite, oh God, the view, taking in the spiraled tower, the harbor, and a beautiful inky black sky illuminated by a million shining stars.

"You've stepped up in the world." Armie says.

I shrug.

"Don't be modest, you deserve every fucking perk you get."

I feel him move against me, "Let's go to bed."

Armie bends down, leaning his chin on my shoulder; his arms wrapping around to trap my arms against my sides.

My head tilts back as he kisses my mouth. And nuzzling my ear he slides one hand down --

Lower

Unzipping

Exposing.

And I'm instantly reminded of a certain day on a certain set; waiting for the cameras to be set up.  
___  
___

¤ CREMA: 2016  
___

I watch his hand move on himself

Because I can't help it

Because I'm intrigued

Because I'm invited.  
___  
___

■ 18  
___

He's playing with me. And it's so hot. Because although I'm trapped, I'm free to push myself into his hand.

"Yeah -- let's -- go -- to --" I groan. Oh God.

And what he's doing is only moving things along faster than I'd like; but I'm liking this too.

And he's either not listening or he's got his own agenda.

And I'm so fucking ready

I'm practically swooning

Swooning?

Sure let's go with that.

And

OH

MY

FUCKING

GOD!!!!!

Armie lifts his hand to examine the mess --

My mess.

He licks my neck like he's about to have a Margarita.

Then lapping the lubricity from his palm --

He leans in to kiss me

And I taste myself.

Wiping his hand on my pants, he pushes me towards the bed.

Finally.  
___  
___

¤ CREMA: 2016  
___

Away from prying eyes, Armie strokes himself.

And I'm wondering when the camera will be set up.

Because if they're done too soon --

Well I'm enjoying the show too much.  
___  
___

■ 18  
___

Laughing, I bounce back on the bed

Watching him strip

Not slowly though

But quickly, hurriedly.

My suit

My beautiful black and white hand-painted suit

In a puddle on the floor.

My pants practically ripped off in haste.

Armie grabs a length of rope

And next thing I know

I'm on my back .. arms tied under my knees

And I'm in a very compromising position.

___  
___

□ 17  
___

"What's THAT?" I ask, feeling propositioned but not in any way compromised

Knowing full well what he's got in his hands.

Armie arches an eyebrow, "Do I have to explain?"

I shake my head, biting my lip in the process.

"I - I - just didn't think you were really into that shit."

"I like ropes." He shrugs.

"I know - but -"

"It's not for your butt. It's for your wrists." He laughs. "Or whatever else you want tied up."

"Wrists are good."

"Take off your clothes." Armie's long body saddles up behind me.

I toe off my runners, looking straight ahead, anywhere but at him.

Or more specifically what he's holding.

He wordlessly turns us around, marching me over to the corner of the bed.

"Hands up."

I laugh. I didn't think I was nervous -- but I am.

"I'm going to tie your hands to the post." He explains.

And it's as if he's giving directions to the supermarket -- assuming he knows where a supermarket is located.

"Can I ask something?"

"Sure." He ties my wrists together then positions them high above my head.

"Do you do this with a lot of people?"

Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Why did I ask that?

Armie ignores me, wrapping the loose ends of rope around the post, knotting it tightly.

He then nudges my feet apart

Wide - - - apart.

I try not to shiver as he runs a finger down my spine, stopping to spread his hand over one cheek.

He says nothing then slowly starts to squeeze and I want nothing more than to rise up on my toes and invite him inside.

"Owww."

The slap was unexpected but didn't really hurt.

He rubs his hand over my ass before slapping me again. Harder.

___  
___

■ 18  
___

I would feel claustrophobic if this didn't feel so fucking good.

Lying on my back, knees pressed up against my chest, arms crossed underneath and securely tied.

Okay - this was a little bit more than I bargained for - but holy fuck what he's doing to my asshole is beyond - well - beyond.

And we can't forget about the blindfold.

Nothing says reunion better than a scenario where I'm trussed up like a turkey and rimmed until I feel I can't take it any longer.

___  
___

□ 17  
___

Armie swats me again before

Kneeling behind me.

Ohhhh.

Wet swipes of his tongue

Across the abused cheek.

Licking me everywhere

Butt

Where I want him to go.

Ahhh.

Teeth

Sharp teeth

Worrying my flesh.

Pulling

Biting

Then licking the hurt.

Keeping me on my toes with

Sensation.

My cock

At full attention

Hurting

For more attention.

_

I ask myself, Why doesn't he touch me?

And then he does.

THERE

Spreading me open

WIDE

I want him

FUCK I WANT HIM

Tongue tunneling inside

Opening my

TUNNEL.

I'm on the tips of my toes

Legs

SPREAD

Ass

SPREAD

Hole

SPREAD  
___

NOW

I want to scream

FUCKING

NOW  
___  
___

¤ CREMA:  
___

He's hard

And big.

Huge .. (as I later recount).

And I'm so turned on by what he's doing.  
___  
___

■ 18  
___

He's not touching me anywhere but my hole.

His tongue snaking inside.

I want to open myself up

Do

SOMETHING.

My cock

Leaking all over my stomach.

FUCK

I want him to

Touch me

THERE.  
___

Please.

Did I say it or think it?

Shhhh.

Armie calms me.

My body tries to participate

But restricted like it is

All I can do is lie here

And - take - it.  
___  
___

□ 17  
___

Armie stands up behind me.

The heat of his body the only thing touching me.

My arms ache under the strain

My legs spread - - eagled

Are encouraged to spread

W-I-D-E-R.

And I don't know if I can.

"Do it." Armie breathes. "Wide as you can. I want you to feel it."

Feel what?

HOLY FUCKKKKKK

He shoves his fingers inside

How many?

Three?

Four?

It feels like a

FIST.  
___  
___

¤ CREMA: 2016  
___

His fist slides over his cock

And

He's almost

There.  
___  
___

□ 17  
___

My arms

ACHE

My legs

ACHE

My whole body

Is on fire with

SENSATION.

While his fingers

Slide IN and OUT.

Never quite getting me there.

Never giving

RELIEF.

_

I feel them inside me. Making me ready.

Making me want him more than any other thing in my life.

His fingers leave

As he walks around.

Untying me from the post

He pulls me towards him.

My wrists still bound together

He ducks his head between my arms

And standing up, lifts me

ONTO HIM.

My legs wrap around as his big hands grab me under my thighs

Lowering me down onto

HIM.  
___  
___

¤ CREMA: 2016  
___

The camera's are finished setting up

And with a loud groan

So is Armie.  
___  
___

□ 17  
___

I ride him

Arms over his head

Wrists bound behind his neck.

And I feel him

Moving inside

As he moves me.  
_

MOUTH

SEALED

to

HIS.

SKIN

Slick with

SWEAT

And we cum.  
_

Bodies

WET

Inside and out.  
___  
___

■ 18  
___

Armie moves away from my hole

To mouth my cock.

Fingers sliding inside

I can't move

I can't participate

And I can't wait for him to finish me off.  
_

"You okay?" He asks.

I nod behind the blindfold - hoping he can tell

Just how OKAY I am.

"Soon, Elio. Soon." He breathes.

I love when he blurs these lines

As long as I'm Tim when he cums.

Armie pulls me to the edge of the bed

And leaning forward -

His arms bracketing my body

He slides home.

There's no other word that describes where he is now.  
_

HOME.  
_

And pulling off my blindfold

His mouth fuses to mine

LIPS to lips

TONGUE to tongue

BREATH to breath.

And I take his thrusts

Tongue in mouth

Cock in ass.

And he's taking us there

Gripping

Clasping

Clamping down

I take

Take

Take

Take

And finally

I GIVE.  
___  
___

¤ CREMA: 2016  
___

I'm delivering lines

When I notice

His fly is open

Cheeky bastard.  
__

BRAZENLY

DEFIANTLY

CONFIDENTLY

Armie reaches down

And re-zips  
___

While the cameras roll.  
___  
___

● 19  
___

"Are you naked?"

FUCK

I don't answer right away.

"Talk to me Timmy. Come on, get with the program."

FUCK

"Open your pants, take it out, stroke yourself."

"I can't Armie."

"Why the fuck not?"

FUCK I have to say it.

"I'm not alone."

FUCK!

___  
___

● FIN - HOTEL 0 (2) TIFF 17-18-19

___  
___

Epilogue:  
___

● 19  
___

"Are you naked?"

FUCK

I don't answer right away.

"Talk to me Timmy. Come on, get with the program."

FUCK

"Open your pants, take it out, stroke yourself."

"I can't Armie."

"Why the fuck not?"

FUCK I have to say it.

"I'm not alone."

FUCK!  
_

"So is this how it is?"

"I don't know Armie."

"Well fucking figure it out." He's pissed.

There should have been a better way. But there never is.  
_

I lie here stunned by what I've done.

And devastated that I can't fucking undo this.  
___  
___

● FIN - TIFF17-18-19 +

___


	3. HOTEL 0.3 Awards Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 🏆This final installment takes place over TIFF19, the 2018 Oscars, the 2019 Oscar Nominations and the beginning of Armie's time in Hawaii December 2019.

___

■ Disclaimer: this is a fictional depiction of the two actors (and other peripheral characters) mentioned within the following storyline.   
___  
___

HOTEL SERIES 0.3 Awards Season  
___  
___

● TIFF19  
■ September 2019

⊙ Tim:  
___

"Are you naked? Open your pants, take it out, stroke yourself." 

"I can't Armie. I'm not alone." 

I lie there stunned by what I've done, wanting to take back every word, and completely sure, yeah positive, he's pissed at the way I ended the call.  
__

Tears well up as Brian enters my suite, he doesn't say anything; nothing helpful at least; my face says it all and I'm completely devastated by what I've done.

I feel like shit for doing this to Armie and I know he's thinking the worst.

Fuck! I'm already regretting everything I've said.  
___

■ November 2019  
___

I haven't heard from Armie in more than a month, but since he's posted an elevator selfie, similar to many of one's I've done, I can't think of a better time to reconnect.   
__

"Tim." He answers. 

That he's picked up and is speaking to me is a start. 

"Yeah. How are you Armie?"

"Tired. Busy." He's making me work for this and I really can't blame him. 

"I saw the picture you posted."

"Mmmm?"

"The one in the elevator."

He must have put it up it as a signal, because Armie, in his own way, has started many of our conversations by posting shit he knows will get a reaction. 

Covert tactics maybe, but Armie is not subtle. Not where I'm concerned. 

"I know what you're doing." I tell him.

"Mmmm?" He mumbles again, trying to sound both distracted and innocent at the same time. 

But I'm not fooled. Not one bit.

"You can't tell me posting a picture like that, and looking like you did, is some fucking accident."

"And how was I looking?" 

Fuck, I fell into that one!

"You know."

"What do I know?"

"Damn it Armie, I'm not an idiot."

"I never said you were."

And its right about now when I want to reach through his phone and kill him, or kiss him -- it's hard to tell these days.

___  
___

■ HOTEL 0 (3) Oscars   
■ March 3rd 2018  
___

Remembering our first Oscars and how magical and hopeful, naively hopeful, I was; takes me back to our allotted rooms and my perhaps overly eager anticipation of finally being alone with Armie in a place that didn't resemble my tiny apartment in New York. 

The room, while not extravagant was quiet and private; unlike our elevator trip to get there.   
___

I can still feel Armie's hand surreptitiously sliding under my shirt to trail across my lower back as I squirmed under his touch. 

"Soon." He whispers into my hair, my head pressed backwards into his shoulder. 

I'm squashed into Armie's side, taking in his scent, which frankly isn't helping the situation. 

And I'm hard. 

And no amount of deep breathing is going to get me out of this.

Not when all I can smell is Eaux de Armie. 

Delicious, intoxicating Armie.

I want to turn around, rub myself into him; that, or palm my cock in front of everyone, just to get some friction going because this suspended reality is for shit.

And what his hand, his fingers, are doing just makes me want to jump him right here. 

One finger really. That's it. That's all.

Snaking into my pants and moving lower.

"Fuck." I mumble in an undertone. 

"Teemy?" Luca turns to look over his shoulder, no doubt wondering, or more likely, sure of what we're up to.

Armie laughs, breaking the spell and hopefully getting Luca's attention onto something besides what he's doing to me.

Because he keeps doing it. 

And pushing past the waistband of my boxers, his fingers idly slide into my crack.

With no one the wiser. 

__

The chime sounds, the doors close, sending us up towards our floor.  
__

"Finally." Armie breathes into my neck, his mouth over my cartaeroid, tongue lapping at my pulse. He presses me into the doorway, not even bothering with the latch, our sheathed cocks grinding as his mouth covers mine.

I groan loudly, my consciousness spinning out of control, not really giving a flying fuck if the entire press corps sees us.   
___  
___

■ November 2019

⊙ Armie:  
___

The boy sure has great timing. And by great -- I mean -- not.

I can't really talk right now but there's no fucking way I'm not taking his call; however ill-timed it might be.

He's trying to reconnect, I get that. And I'm glad to hear from him. I really am. 

Not fucking lying about that. 

Can't. 

I think of him a lot. Dream of him. Daydream of him. Fantasize about him.

Fuck! 

Memories, of however furtive our assignation, still creep into my consciousness from time to time.

Who am I fucking kidding. 

The 2018 Oscars were, and I can't believe I'm going down this road, almost a honeymoon for us. I opened up to him more than I ever have in any other relationship. 

And yes this was a fucking relationship.   
___  
___

■ Oscars 2018  
___

He's a horny little bugger tonight; well more than usual. 

His hands are all over me -- were all over me in that crowded elevator -- such that I practically had to hide us in the corner so people wouldn't notice.

But Luca knew.

Getting Tim as far as his suite was like wrangling cats in a hurricane, nearly impossible, but the need to procure a safe environment becomes so essential that what are a few bites and scratches in the bigger scheme of things.

I mean really.

"Slow." I whisper, leaning him against his door-jam, hoping to make this last beyond the ten seconds it will take to strip off his clothes to slide inside.

Home doesn't even begin to describe how I feel when I'm within his body.

But home it is. 

Where ever we are, as soon as I've got my tongue in his mouth, my dick in his ass, it feels like our very first time back in Crema.

I did say this feels like a honeymoon.   
___  
___

⊙ Tim:  
___

We lie on the bed, clothing askew, neither one of us wanting to move from our ephemeral nest where I can't help but get sentimental about things.

"What did you think of me at first?" I ask; quickly adding, "I'm not fishing, I just want to know."

I often feel like I'm channeling Elio -- especially when I'm around Armie.

He's bigger than life, much like Oliver.

Although he could say the same about me. That like Elio, I'm often unabashed, ballsy to the point where it gets me in trouble. 

So I wait not so patiently for Armie's gaze to match mine.

With a sigh, he brushes back my hair, trailing one long finger over my forehead, around to my ear, across my cheekbone to give me a chiding tap on the nose; then raising an eyebrow as if he's about to ask, 'Are you going to make me say it?'

But he surprises me. Really. 

I'm astounded by what he has to say.

"I wanted you from the beginning. Even in that tiny piano studio. One look at you and I wanted nothing more than to touch you, to see if you were real; to see if what you were like when I'd checked out your work online was anything as magnificent as you are in the flesh."

The way he says 'flesh' makes me want to dissolve into a puddle on the floor.

And I thought I was the only one Googling, but Armie continues to surprise me. 

I must have moaned because as he leans over to kiss me, sweetly, sumptuously -- his knee nudging mine to open me up as his leg rests in between.

"I wanted," Armie moves his mouth to my ear, breathing deeply; "I wanted to see what your freckles tasted like." 

Oh my.

"To lick and kiss every one of them, and you had quite a few back then, before you decided to live like a vampire, never venturing out into the sun."

His knee quietly rotates into my balls. 

Pressing -- just -- there.

"Speaking of vampires," I say in a hushed tone, "your incisors are most impressive."

"Hey, you rhymed!" Armie exclaims, as if I'd done something impressive. 

"No I didn't, and hey, you're stoned." I try to mimic his delivery but it comes out way squeakier than I'd intended.   
___  
___

■ November 2019

⊙ Armie:  
___

I wait while Tim gathers his thoughts, my own ruminations scattering to unwelcome places as I take in his hitched breathing over distant telephone lines.

This trip down memory lane has brought back a flood of emotions that I thought were dead and buried after his revelation that he was not alone in his room. 

But I can't help but go there. 

I've been swept up in his spell once again, and to say I was ever a reluctant participant would be an outright lie.  
__

Tim is the most sexually adventurous bastard I know, and that's saying a fucking lot.

I remember enquiring one time if we were going too far, to which he replied, "No one has died yet, so we're good".

Ballsy s.o.b.

Who knew such a delicate flower, and he does sometimes resemble a flower; petal soft skin, juicy mouth; who knew he would turn out to be such a demon in bed. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

During those first rehearsals in Italy, those late night sessions that no one else knew about, I thought to myself: it's just Elio being forward, trying to get Oliver over to his side. 

But when he put his hand on my cock during filming, asking if Oliver was offended, it was fucking ME he was talking to.

That little smirk he gave made my cock jump in his hand that didn't seem to want to stop groping me. 

Sure he was in character, but if you look closely, he's talking to me.

He's challenging me.

And that was the last time he asked.

There wasn't any more need.

I suggested another time we try out some shit with ropes, where he smiled, that fucking evil smile he gets sometimes, grabbing my wrists, tightly winding the soft cotton around; pulling my arms up over my head before I even thought of saying no.

Since then we've become more adventurous; Tim likes that there may be a chance of getting caught, so we've brought in that element as well, althought it personally scares the shit out of me.

And so after pressing him against the doorframe of his room on that heady evening before the Oscars, my tongue down his throat, my hand halfway up his ass, then nearly fucking ourselves to death; I was now given the esteemed pleasure of watching him get dressed for his big night.

All in white, he lets me construct his bowtie as he fidgets with which rings to keep on. I really want him to wear the one I gave him, the one he sometimes wears without telling anyone who gifted it to him; but he's got so fucking many that it's like a jewelry store in here. 

That the night didn't quite go as planned; that Tim didn't make it up to the stage; was only slightly mitigated by Ivory being recognized for a script we didn't film. 

It was a good script, but Luca's was the one that finally made it to the screen and I've got to say no amount of monetary compensation or fucking coddling was ever going to get me to do the Full Monty in glorious Technicolor HD.

At the end of it all, Tim's just glowing, and I know, however this night turns out, it will be more than just okay.   
___  
___

■ Oscar Nominations   
\-- January 22nd 2019  
___

They asked me about Timmy the other day, in a press conference no less, wondering how I felt about the snub felt around the world. 

I told them then, and I repeated it to Tim later; it doesn't mean shit. Well not the exact same words but they were close to the ones relayed over ancient telephone lines as he was somewhere off the beaten path being brilliant before yet another set of cameras.  
___

"They don't know shit." I tell him, "You do the best work you can and fuck anyone who has their blinders on and can't see for themselves your fucking brilliance."

"Brilliance?"

That's the one word he picked out of my pep talk. 

"Yeah, brilliance."

I then continue, "It's all a game, politics anyway. Who they pick, who they vote for, and who they don't vote for."

"So you'd give back all the awards we got for Call Me by Your Name?"

"Fuck no. But it still doesn't mean anything."   
___  
___  
___

■ Honolulu, Hawaii   
December 2019  
___

⊙ Armie:

I can't and won't call him this time. They've been essentially passed over on the Globes and the fucking SAG awards, and they haven't yet opened worldwide. 

That big golden statue, while magnificent to look at, would be a bitch to have on my mantle, his mantle too, and it will someday, I have no doubts about that.

But it looks like we may both be somewhere else that night.

I haven't yet given up my apartment in London, where we met last time, so we can meet there or we can try out his new digs for 4000 Miles.

The locale really doesn't matter, one hotel blends into the other, but what happens while we're there - 

Well that's where fucking memories are made.   
__

I remember the first time we actually fucked. It was after a sumptuous dinner at Luca's and Tim had absconded with one of the last bottles of wine.

We were headed, at a decidedly drunken pace, back to his apartment; Tim three sheets to the wind by now and horny as fuck. 

"If you don't fuck me right this minute, I will shove this bottle up my ass instead." He tells me, slamming the bottle down on his end table.

"You don't want to do that."

"Why not? I've shoved a whole shitload of weirder stuff up there."

You know, I normally strongly recommend having a consensual conversation before indulging in sexual gymnastics of this sort, but discussing this type of thing is frankly, in my estimation, not one of our normal conversations.

It is however, as I've learned over the years, slightly more normal where Tim is concerned.

Mouth. Dick. Fist. Or any combination of the three. 

We didn't get as far as the bottle that first drunken evening in Crema, with Timmy proclaiming my dick was a cure for just about anything from, the aforementioned horniness, to the climate crisis. 

Don't ask.

But it was on that fateful Oscar eve in 2018, after the let down of not having the opportunity to recite his highly inappropriate acceptance speech, that Tim announced he was going to fuck the shit out of a bottle of Dom or die trying. 

I didn't want him to hurt himself so I volunteered to help. 

I also didn't want him screaming bloody murder or possibly hemorrhaging all over the fucking place when the width of the bottle spreads his ring so far wide that it had turns completely white, devoid of any further resistance, and on the verge of tearing open. 

But not on my watch.

So Tim and I had indulged in a little -- fuck a lot of weed beforehand, and he was generously lubed up, lying there with one leg draped over my shoulder, waiting not so patiently to be rammed by Master Dom. 

And with great care and some trepidation, I pressed forward, the open hole of the bottle meeting his equally open hole; slicked to the point that we'd resorted to shoving several of the hotel's plush towels under his ass to absorb any lube or fluids that might ooze out around the cool glass to drip copiously onto the Egyptian cotton. 

"We should have filmed this back in 1983", Tim huffed, as the glass went deeper; drunk and high enough to get his realities mixed up; to which I reminded him that no film lab or Photo Hut would have ever processed it back then.

"You're doing good." I encourage him, mindful of his brave little soldier that I can even to this day, picture it greedy swallowing the cool glass.

To which he replies, in typical Timmy fashion, "Duh."

I suppose the blood supply to his brain could have contributed to his state, but really he was so into the moment that nothing would have penetrated his euphoria the way the bottle neck was penetrating his ass. 

"If you -" I pause to get his attention. "Timmy fucking look at me! If you feel any pressure that doesn't feel right, you fucking tell me to stop. You got that. I'm not going to hurt you."

He'd nodded quietly, his upper front teeth worrying his lip.

"I need words."

"Do it." He glares at me, getting pissed that I'm ruining his buzz.

And so the bottle neck, then the beginnings of the wide shoulder, breached the most beautiful and giving human being on this earth. And as his eyes glaze over, his head is thrown back so that the cords on his neck become a taut and prominent reminder of both his strength and fragility. 

I've never admired his tenacity more than that very night, and even though he did not take the entire bottle, I had to put a stop to that real quick when he appeared to stop breathing - although he was really just holding his breath - Tim became even more so my hero. 

Not because of the bottle per se, but because he trusted me.

That trust, however misguided, was what had me loving him even more.  
__

Tim's breathing returned to normal as his bravado took an unexpected swing up to an even higher plateau with the night only getting more adventurous, weirder if you will, when Tim requested I take a piss up his ass. 

Seems our boy's bucket list involved getting insanely famous, making millions of dollars, climbing Mount Everest, having sex with a champagne bottle, and the pièce de la résistance, a piss enema. 

And, oh yes, we can't forget, having a complete and irreverent disdain for the word 'no'.  
__

"No." I said.

"Why not?" He challenged. "It's not as if I was the one pissing up your ass."

Does he want to go there? I mean really. 

"Why in the fuck do you want me to do it?" 

He shrugs, "We've done everything else. And I've heard -"

"Heard what?" I ask, brows furrowed, daring to mock his kink.

Yeah, kink.

Because what he said next completely undid me.

That he said it in French, only made it more erotic.

"Je veux que tu me baiser jusqu'à ce que la merde explose. Je veux que tu me foure si fort que ton sperme et ton pisse jaillisse de ma bouche."

I've got to say, I'm not usually speechless, but that did it.

And sealed the deal.  
___

Now kink can take many forms, and one man's kink may just be another's Saturday night, but I've got to admit, once we got in the shower and I had my dick up Tim's ass, the word kink completely flew from my mind.

So there he is, hands braced against the shower wall, back arched, feet bracketed, asshole pulsing open beyond belief; and with my full bladder aching to be emptied, Tim cooed, actually cooed as my piss shot up his hole.

And my cock, ready most times whenever I'm around him, hardened instantly with my warm piss, and probably cum too, spilling out around it.

My hands reached up to clasp his, and when he arched back against my thrusts, my mouth needing something to latch onto, migrated to the back of his neck where all I wanted was to bare my teeth and I sink into him. 

It's inelegant and obscene and the headiest of feelings and Tim's reaction is priceless. 

His cum hits the shower wall, his bellows echoing around the expensive tile fortresses, as he roars in ecstatic bliss; and his bladder releasing torrents of piss that spatter wildly, ricocheting off the wall to coat his chest and legs. 

It is an epic coming together and I'm very glad to have shared it with him.

"Arrrrrrrr." 

"That good?"

"Better than good." Tim turns around to kiss as I blindly reach for the knob to start our shower. 

He wraps his arms around me, and standing on his toes, licks my bottom lip, then the top.   
___

The thing about fucking Timmy is that nothing seems abnormal or forced, that everything we do is consensual, agreed upon; although there are times when I find myself going with the flow, pun intended, it seems completely natural to be doing it.

And doing it while in the shower certainly helps with the inevitable clean up.

The only time I ever got concerned, and yes angry, was when he got hurt and things got so wild that he didn't stop immediately. 

That undid me.  
___  
___

But nothing compares to the times when he was completely unreachable and I had to wait it out until we could connect again.

Some called it a drought. 

I called it hell. 

But nothing like the ninth circle that I was unceremoniously plunged into upon hearing those words back in September, "I'm not alone". 

Which brings us back to his last phone call.  
___

■ November 2019

Waiting as Tim gathers his thoughts, my mind trips further down memory lane, where I have to admit our problems can't always be rectified over the phone, and that sometimes it takes a personal touch; so while I'm forever glad Timmy caught my elevator post -- yes it was intentional -- and acted upon it, we will eventually have to have a face to face. 

That I sound distant and emotionally unavailable at the moment can be chalked up to bad timing. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And I haven't yet asked him the burning question, because as the old adage goes, one should never ask a question if one is not prepared to hear the answer. 

And one is never prepared for this.

But I've never stepped back from a fight and if that's what I have to do, so be it.

I'm prepared to fight for him. 

Fight for us.  
___

"Armie, are you there?"

"Of course I am. You were telling me how good I look."

"Asshole." He sighs.

"Your asshole." I close my eyes when I say it. Wishing. Hoping.

You see, that's shorthand for I love you; and I mean it with all my heart. Perhaps I don't say it enough, but he knows. 

He has to. Doesn't he?

"So are you alone now?" I feel safe asking because he wouldn't be calling if there was someone in the room.

"I was alone then too." 

Then? Fuck!

How quiet his words sound when the message relayed was the emotional equivalent of a sonic boom.

"Care to clarify?" I try to make my voice neutral but I sound pissed.

"Maybe some day. I have to go Armie, Brian's waiting."

"Another event?"

"Not tonight. Just dinner."

I wait a moment because there's more. With Timmy there's always more.

"I'll call you back -- later." He says it as a matter of fact, not a question.

Ballsy s.o.b.

I want to ask him to explain himself. To at least give me a clue as to what the fuck is going on. But having his word is enough for now.

"Later." I say as the phone reverts once again to a dialtone.

And it amazes me that on this momentous day -- 

The little shit hung up on me!  
___  
___

■ LA December 2019  
Honolulu, Hawaii 

It's a balmy December afternoon when I check in with Timmy. You see, he's here. In Hawaii. Taking what amounts to a mini vacation for him. 

And this time I know he will pick up. 

Our frequent phone sex over the last month could only take us so far and this time around I've made the plans. Travel plans for him. Relationship plans for me. 

Plans that, while seemingly inconsequential, will be a cornerstone for any future rendezvous, assignations if you will; and hot sex in various locales around the world sound pretty fucking awesome right about now.

So he's here. I know I've said it but it won't seem so fucking real until he steps off the plane.

Because this time it's all about the lad. 

You see I will formally come a calling - 

Have a real, honest to God, date.

A date with the most beautiful boy.

This unavailability we've both been subjected to, not of our own making I might add, has made us more aware that our time together is precious, and should not be taken for granted. 

That, and he's fucking famous now.

He can't slip in and out of airports the way he used to. Everything is a fucking production.

But he's here. 

And we've got twelve uninterrupted days in paradise. 

We may never make it outside the hotel room but that's a small price to pay for, did I say, twelve glorious days together. 

It brings us full circle; back to where he is me and I am him but nowhere in our little world does it say anything about substance or longevity; it doesn't have to; we know who we are to each other and that's all that counts.  
___  
___

■ FIN - HOTEL 0.3 Awards Season  
___

HOTEL 00 - 'Tis the Season is up next  
___

**Author's Note:**

> HOTEL SERIES Index  
> HOTEL Series are considered CHARMIE fiction 📌  
> ___
> 
> □ HOTEL SERIES  
> □ 1.0 London Layover   
> □ 2.0 A Massage to Remember  
> __
> 
> □ HOTEL SERIES 3  
> □3.1 MO-RE-AL Part  
> □ 3.2 MO-RE-AL Part  
> __
> 
> □ HOTEL SERIES 4.0 SUCCOR - The Man who won't be Bat  
> __
> 
> □ HOTEL SERIES 5.1 - 5.2 Cannes - Cannes Revisited  
> __
> 
> □ HOTEL SERIES 6.1 - 6.3  
> □ 6.1 CASA DEL CHALAMET  
> □ 6.2 CASA DEL CHALAMET - Don't Tread on Me   
> □ 6.3 CASA DEL CHALAMET - Fool Me Once - Don't Mock Me  
> __
> 
> 🏆The 0 Series is an Origin series that is told in a series of flashbacks  
> 🏆HOTEL 0 (1) Sundance - January 2017  
> 🏆HOTEL 0 (2) TIFF17-18-19  
> 🏆HOTEL 0 (3) Awards Season - The Oscars  
> ___
> 
> 🌴HOTEL 00 Series takes place in Hawaii - December 2019  
> 🌴HOTEL 00-1 Tis the Season - 1. Paradise  
> 🌴HOTEL 00-2 WATER  
> 🌴HOTEL 00-3 FIRE  
> 🌴HOTEL 00-4 AIR  
> 🌴HOTEL 00-5 VOID 1 -2  
> 🌴HOTEL 00-6 EARTH  
> ____
> 
> 🗽HOTEL 7 is part of the NYC Series taking place during the pandemic  
> 🗽HOTEL 7.1 (a) NY to London - NY Minute  
> 🗽HOTEL 7.1 (b) Minute by Minute - London to NY  
> 🗽HOTEL 7.2 (a) MOVING FORWARD - One Step Forward, Two Steps Back  
> 🗽HOTEL 7.2 (b) A Cop, A Pirate and a twink walk into a bar....  
> 🗽HOTEL 7.3 (a) Part 1 - PROUD   
> 🗽HOTEL 7.3 (b) Part 2 - PASSAGES   
> 🗽HOTEL 7.4 (a) Part 1 - PANACEA - One Raccoon, Two Raccoon  
> 🗽HOTEL 7.4 (b) Part 2 - PANACEA - Tabloid Shit-Storm  
> 🗽HOTEL 7.5 (a) Part 1 - Panic in the Streets - Eggs for Breakfast  
> 🗽HOTEL 7.5 (b) Part 2 - Pushing the Envelope - The Hell We've been Thrown into  
> ___
> 
> ■ HOTEL 8 - HOTEL California is currently a work in progress


End file.
